


Pet

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels as Slaves, Bondage, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6505921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester are known as the most proficient monster trainers in the United States. Their new project - turning the rebellious angel, Castiel, into a perfect, obedient slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are for references to past rape and non-con, as well as some non-explicit sexual fantasies of Dean's. I will add more specific tags for kinks and warnings as the fic grows.

The dungeon was frigid, affected predictably by the cold grip of January. This was Dean’s favorite time to train a pet. The holiday rush was gone, giving them more time to work leisurely, and the cold would become another tool in their arsenal. He remembered when they were training a phoenix – too strong for most trainers, but simple enough for the Winchesters – and it had been willing to trade anything to get its firey ass out of that freezing cell. When they’d handed it off to its new owner, with their usual assurances that it was now perfectly obedient and a prime cocksucker, he’d seen the relief in its eyes. The life it was going to was unknown, but at least it probably wouldn’t be in the cold. 

It was definitely the perfect time to train. But, when he looked at the dungeon, it was empty. The cells were clean. The toys lining the walls were shiny and unsullied. There was no warm, not-so-willing body strapped to the rack for Dean to sink his teeth into. Frustration built in Dean, before cresting into resolve. This needed to be fixed. This would be fixed.

His plan, though, might have left something to be desired. 

“Sam.” At the sound of Dean’s voice, Sam’s face twisted in irritation.

“Yes, I am looking. No, I haven’t found one yet. Just stop, Dean. Stop.” Sam punctuated the end of each sentence sharply tapping a fingernail on the keyboard of his laptop, eyes staying focused on the screen.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to ask.”

Sam shot him an incredulous look. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I was going to ask if you found a hunt. But, Sam, this is important. Are our channels drying up? Should I be sending out goddamned resumes?”

“You know there can be dry periods.”

Dean privately doubted that it was simply a dry period. For the past six months, they hadn’t trained up a single pet. The monsters simply weren’t coming out to play. In their heyday, they were turning out six or seven at a time. Vampires, demons, werewolves, all worth tens of thousands to those with more money than sense. But now, nothing. Maybe they were scared of hunters and collectors, both capable of bringing them to their knees right in front of their intended prey. Maybe the demons and the angels were getting busy killing each other off, and the other nasties were caught in the crossfire. The cause didn’t matter. What mattered, instead, was their livelihood. The bunker, despite being off the grid, took money to maintain. 

Sam seemed to finally sense his unease. “Look,” he said, completely see-through in his awkward I-care-and-I’m-working-with-you demeanor, “we’ll find something.”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

As it turned out, he was.

Several days later, Sam told him about a series of strange police reports coming from Lincoln, Nebraska. People were being killed inside their own bedrooms, their rooms locked from the inside. The coroner’s reports said they had been torn apart by wild animals, their bodies in absolute shreds. While that was a big pool of beasties to choose from, the sulfur at the scene cinched it. They were dealing with a demon in control of a hellhound. A little tricky, but they’d dealt with things way below this demon’s pay grade. They repainted a devil’s trap on the inside of the Impala, picked out a gorgeous brain-dead man languishing away in a hospital at Lincoln, and set out as dawn broke the next morning. 

Mrs. Rodgers, the widow of the most recent, was tear-streaked, filthy rich, not too foregoing with the answers. Sam was nice and caring and whatever, but clearly the sobbing was working on his patience as well. Sam might be all high and mighty, but he needed a good fuck every now and then too. He was wound up as tight as a slinky, his muscles coiled beneath his sharp FBI getup, his fingers clenched tight around his pencil. 

“Did your husband do anything unusual in the past few weeks?”

“No,” sniffed Mrs. Rodgers, reaching for another tissue.

“Anything at all? Did he meet anyone new?” Sam pressed.

“Well…” Mrs. Rodgers dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, smearing her mascara further. “He went to another meetup last week. That ‘bloodline’ nonsense.”

“Bloodline?” Dean perked up at the first sign of life in their interview.

“James believed that he…well…was a part of this ‘ancient bloodline’. A bloodline of luck, extending back generations.” Mrs. Rodgers gestured around the opulent house, another tear falling down her cheek. “He said that his success in the stock market was all related to this ‘lucky blood’. I told him it was nonsense but…he still went, week after week.”

“Can you tell me when these meetings are met?” Sam asked.

“You think someone from one of those meetings killed my husband?” Mrs. Rodger’s eyes were wide.

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

Mrs. Rodgers dug around in a drawer, before handing them an envelope painted with an ornate design. “There’s one tomorrow.” Her disdain and disgust was barely disguised, making a strange contrast to the tear tracks on her face. “This is the letter he was sent, the one that made him go.”

As they walked back to Baby, Sam said, “This…lucky blood stuff. Does that sound like a deal to you?”

Dean scoffed. “Hell yeah. This dude just happens to make it huge in the stock market just before a hellhound tears him up?”

“Warehouse on 16th Street,” Sam read off the envelope. “‘James, you are a member of an elite and powerful bloodline. Learn to activate your true potential.’”

“How much do you want to bet that the other victims were part of this ‘bloodline’ too?”

The family members of each victim that they interviewed were able to turn up the same, ornate envelopes. Warehouse, 9:00, Thursday nights. Like clockwork. Clearly, that was the center of it all. Dean jerked in the shower that night, anxious for that heady rush of power that he got when they first started training up a monster. The demon was close – he could practically taste the sulfur on his tongue. Little did it know, it had more coming to it than just souls. 

Night had fallen completely on Thursday night by the time they reached the warehouse. In the dark, its bulk was slightly imposing. Dean tucked his pistol into his jacket and the holy water into his pocket, prepared for the whole thing to go belly-up. They might be experienced, but that just meant they’d be even more idiotic if they didn’t take precautions. The warehouse was giving off a vibe of darkness and weirdness that was difficult to ignore.

“You feel that?” Sam muttered, eyes on the one window with light, a red light bulb glowing. Even now, behind walls and glass, they could hear the distinct chants in Latin, a tone like Gregorian monks singing. 

“Yeah,” Dean grunted. “Let’s get this over with.” He reminded himself of the two things that would make all of this effort all worth it – sinking his cock into the new pet for the first time, and selling it for thousands. Worth it. Definitely.

As they neared the door into the warehouse, the chanting got louder. Behind the chanting was the sound of frantic, muffled screams. Sam and Dean exchanged a wordless glance, before Dean kicked down the door. The chanting immediately stopped as the room flooded with fluorescent light. Dean was hit with the stink of burning sage and blood. In the center of the concrete floor, surrounded by an ornate symbol drawn in blood, was a pretty dark-haired girl, hogtied and gagged. 

The idiots in robes and hoods immediately tried to rush them, brandishing their knives and sticks and other ridiculously weak weapons. Sam, blocking the door with his bulk, fired off several shots. Eventually, most of them were on the floor, dead or full of buckshot. Dean approached the girl, cutting off the gag and starting to work on the ropes.

“Thank you,” she gasped, wiggling her fingers after her hands were released. “Thank you.”

“What were they doing here?” Dean asked. Their methodology had to have changed. There was, in fact, no demon. Perhaps it was already in the wind, having noticed them coming into town and questioning the witnesses. Goddammit. 

“They were marking me for sacrifice,” she said, rubbing at her chafed wrists. “They told me that the demon Bael would give me everything I wanted. But we’d have to sacrifice some of our own. New blood. Keep it satisfied, away from us.”

“So, what, it’s a demon pyramid scheme?”

The girl’s mouth turned down. “Something like that.”

“Why didn’t Mrs. Rodgers run if they did this to him?”

“Where would he have gone?” Fully free from the ropes, the girl stood up, stretching her limbs. “You saved my life.”

Ignoring the gratitude, Sam interjected, “Do you know where Bael is now?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

Dean looked around, taking in the rather demonic scene. The room was painted with blood, the hanging light bulbs giving off a red glow. The whole room stunk horribly. “Okay. Let’s get you out of here.”

Before they could even take a step towards the door, the bulbs in the lights all, simultaneously, shattered, sending showers of sparks over them. The girl screamed and Dean grunted in shock, reaching for his pistol. “Run, run!” he yelled, grabbing at the girl’s wrist and pulling her bodily towards the door, trying to maneuver around bodies in the dark. They were surrounded by what sounded like a frantic whining. The windows vibrated intensely before shattering. Sam held open the door for them, the moonlight-lit parking lot ahead of them. One minute, they were fine, their path to the Impala clear, and the next, there was a person standing in their way.

Sam, Dean, and the girl all came to a dead halt before him. He practically crackled with electricity, his eyes smoldering. Some sort of monster, then. Dean picked out the features – electric blue eyes, sharp jaw, a head of messy dark hair. Attractive. Almost sinfully so. Just looking at him, Dean knew this guy would sell for a substantial chunk of change. 

“Unhand the demon,” he said, in a voice suggesting that he’d sucked a thousand cocks before coming here.

Dean’s brows creased in confusion. Wait – shit, this girl was a demon? He should have expected that. He should have really, really expected that. The girl ripped her wrist free from his hand before leveling the new guy with a haughty look. “Castiel,” she said.

“Demon,” the new guy, Castiel, apparently, growled. “You have been collecting souls.”

“Don’t you just love the new methods?” Bael purred, eyes turning completely red. “My cute little minions were trying to curtail me, but, luckily, I had a couple of sexy heroes come to save me.” She gave Sam and Dean doe eyes, long eyelashes fluttering.

Castiel’s eyes briefly darted to Sam and Dean, before settling back on Bael. While they both were distracted, Dean took the opportunity to mouth “angel?” at Sam. Sam nodded, face a combination of fear and thoughtfulness. 

“You’re still not powerful enough to beat me,” Castiel proclaimed. To punctuate this, apparently, he rested his palm on Bael’s head, and exploded her from the inside. The vessel collapsed, useless, her eyes a mess of blood and burned flesh. Then, he turned to Sam and Dean. “This is dangerous. You should not be here.”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to appear like he wasn’t planning to fuck Castiel into the ground in the coming weeks. “Yeah. Sorry. We heard screaming and…” He lowered his gun. “We’ll be more careful.”

Castiel gave them a steady look. His face looked like carved marble in the moonlight. Dean could just imagine Castiel riding his dick, gagged, his hands tied – actually, no, scratch that, weren’t angels mind readers? But Castiel didn’t seem to have even noticed Dean’s little foray into Fucksville. “Very well,” Castiel said, and vanished with the sound of fluttering wings.

Dean turned to Sam. “That’s our new project, right?”

Sam wore an excited but nervous smile. Sam loved a good hunt just like Dean did, but angels were difficult to catch and difficult to train. They’d only successfully caught and trained one in their entire careers. But it was high time for a good, tricky hunt. “Oh, yeah.”

Castiel wouldn’t know what hit him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the archive warnings apply to Dean's fantasies. Still no graphic non-con yet. I will warn you when it crops up. Reviews are great.

The first step to catching Castiel was, sadly, research. When they were back at the bunker, they laid out everything they knew. Angels were a relatively new addition to the Earth’s monster cache. Five years ago, a pair of twin brothers, Andy and Ansem Gallagher, had managed to jumpstart the apocalypse. An angel, Anael, had rescued Andy from Hell. Sam and Dean had simply stood back and watched at the time, content to let real hunters like Jo and Ellen take the reins. There was no small amount of animosity between them and the hunters that worked by pointing and shooting, anyway.

Anna had been off limits – Jo had warned them off of her with a gun to Sam’s head– but the other angels had been free game. Angels proved hard to catch, but they had managed to capture and train one. Rachel had been a learning experience, but she had gotten down on her knees at the end just like the rest of them. Angels were raised from birth to be obedient, after all.

Since the apocalypse had ended with a disappointed wheeze, the angels had fucked off back to Heaven and left the world to the demons. Or, at least, that appeared to be the case. But Castiel, an outlier, was still on Earth.

The library had contained several books about angel capture and containment, all of which were at Bobby’s for the purpose of being archived. Sam and Dean still had the special cuffs and collar, designed by the Men of Letters and perfected through months of trial and error, which would contain an angel’s grace and physically weaken them.

Sam was sent to check on the cuffs and repaint the dungeon with power-dampening sigils. Dean took on the task of calling Bobby.

“You’re doing what?” Bobby demanded. Bobby had managed to make that incredulous, furious tone of voice an art form.

“An angel, Bobby.”

“You’re not serious.”

“We’ve done it before.”

“She was injured! You can’t seriously expect to take on an angel with full strength.”

“We do and we will. We’re trainers, Bobby. It’s what we do.”

Bobby sighed heavily. Despite his protests, Dean could hear him shuffling around papers in the background, probably already digging up his research on angels. Trying to hide the smile in his voice, Dean cajoled, “If you help us, you can come up and help out. Bring some of your famous toy collection.” Castiel probably wouldn’t like that much, but this wasn’t about what Castiel wanted.

“Fine, I’ll help. But not because of that, don’t make that stupid noise at me. What was its name again?”

“The demon called him Castiel.”

Bobby paused. “Castiel…Wasn’t that the fallen one that the Gallaghers helped?”

“Fallen?”

“He ripped out his Grace and fell to Earth, got reborn as a human. James…Novak, I think. He was human for a few years, but the Gallaghers eventually helped him re-angel up. I don’t know the whole story.” He chuckled, lightly. “You could talk to them. Or the Harvelles.”

Dean shuddered. There was no love lost between them, the Gallaghers, and the Harvelles. “Can you get me a summoning spell?”

An angel had a choice in responding to a summoning spell, even if it was in their name. One of the reasons Rachel had been difficult to catch was because she was in league with Anna, and wise to their tricks, so she didn’t respond. They’d caught her by simply finding her when she was injured and tired from a long battle, and slapping the collar on her. Of course, that was after a ridiculously long game of cat and mouse. He had a feeling that even if they managed to summon Castiel, and even if they managed to get him in a ring of Holy Fire, it wouldn’t be particularly easy to get the collar or cuffs on. But hell, the spell was a start.

He had a moment of pure indulgence, imagining Castiel with that gorgeous silver collar, those cocksucker lips wrapped around Dean’s dick. Dean predicted that in the first few months of training, Castiel would be wearing a ring gag. Dean wasn’t keen on getting his dick bit off. But in his fantasy, Castiel was absolutely moaning for it, blowing Dean like it was a delicious treat.

He came back to Earth from the sound of Bobby’s voice. “Dean? Boy? You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, Bobby,” he grumbled, trying to will down his boner.

“I’ll get your spell.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me thousands,” Bobby retorted, hanging up with a decisive click.

* * *

So, they did the summoning spell. They set up their little combination of herbs and leaves, they drew the sigils in blood, and they set up their ring of Holy Oil.

Castiel didn’t show. Dean thought he might have been disappointed if he did.

* * *

At first, Dean thought they might have been out of luck. They had no way to track Castiel and Castiel was at full power. But then, Sam thought of it. Castiel was hunting and killing a demon. And that special angel move, basically incinerating the inside of their victims, was particularly unique to angels. So they thought they might be able to pin down a geographical area where Castiel was hunting, using police and coronor’s reports. Angel or not, finding patterns and tracking monsters across the entirety of the United States would probably be beyond his pay grade.

The first place they saw Castiel was in Nebraska. Searching the records, Sam found two reports of that same kind of death in Nebraska within the last few months. Both of which had not been reported on, and put under “spontaneous combustion”. They found similar reports in Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, South Dakota, and Idaho. While Castiel appeared to travel some distance for a solid hunt, appearing in Rhode Island, Texas, and even Quebec, he seemed to have a specific area of focus. Specifically, Cheyenne, Wyoming, which boasted a whopping six deaths just in the last few weeks, with the same “spontaneous combustion” or “factory accident” explanations. There were baffled notes in the reports about “strange appendages” and “mutated teeth”. While the news coverage didn’t talk about the deaths, some of the people from the city had been reporting seeing mysterious lights and hearing strange sounds at night.

“How did we not see this?” Sam muttered, looking at their boatloads of material.

The deaths simply weren’t being reported on. They were more likely to be reported as accidents, with there being almost no police reports and absolutely no media coverage.

“You think our little angel is manipulating some memories?” he asked.

“Probably,” Sam said darkly. While some hunters might applaud Castiel’s hunting, to the Winchesters, it represented a massive loss of income. Their supply of monsters was drying up, and Castiel’s efforts certainly weren’t helping. Castiel was already working his way up to a hefty punishment, and he wasn’t even theirs yet.

“So, we go to Cheyenne?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They have their Holy Oil, their books of sigils and spells, and the collar and the cuffs. Sam dug up the ingredients for a spell to track Castiel’s location – though, of course, they’ll have to get close enough to him physically to put it on him.

Dean took it upon himself to plaster the inside of Baby’s trunk with sigils, checking to make sure the restraint points in the trunk were still secure. He chose a hefty ball gag to seal up Castiel’s mouth nice and tight on the drive back. He figured there’s no better time to start training Castiel in the art of kinky, degrading sex. Hell, the poor guy was probably still a virgin. “James Novak”, the name given to Castiel when he was human, looked pretty goddamned repressed in every photo taken of him.

They got a hotel in Cheyenne and hunker down, looking for hunts. Kill counts like Castiel’s don’t happen by coincidence. Cheyenne had become a demon and monster hub, though for what reason, Dean couldn’t imagine. Dean figured they could always toss a bone the Gallaghers’s way and give them something to do besides fuck things up all the time.

By listening to the police scanners and hanging out at the police station looking intimidating for a few days, they got wind of a demon. A guy went insane and chopped up his entire family, and was desperately telling the police in the interview room that it wasn’t him. They yanked the case right out of the cop’s hands. The facts of the case sounded like a demon just having some lighthearted fun. Though, since the Apocalypse (fucking Gallaghers), things were never that simple

They went to the crime scene, which still had a faint whiff of sulfur. The bodies had been moved out and a lot of the evidence had already been gathered and bagged. A group of crime scene nerds were still finishing up gathering the forensic evidence. The walls were painted with symbols, of course, in blood. “Demonic,” Sam commented, after taking one look.

“Do you think Castiel will come here?” Dean muttered to Sam under his breath.

Sam glanced around. “Probably. At least to look at the symbols. But he won’t stay long.” Sam had a bit of a sense about these things. Dean would defer to his judgment.

“He won’t come now,” Dean commented. The people swarming around would be too suspicious. As an angel-gone human-gone angel, Castiel would probably have at least a little bit of common sense. “Tonight, you think?”

“Yeah.” Sam rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck. “Let’s do it.”

The crime scene techs left a couple of hours later, chattering about dinner plans and their kids and other things that no hunter worth his salt would understand. They set up, ready for anything Castiel would throw at them, and waited.

By 10:00, Dean was ready to pack up, certain that Castiel wasn’t going to show. Or maybe Castiel had already figured out the location of the demon and smited it. Just as he put down “Chemical Romance”, the third volume of the Dr. Sexy novelizations, there was the sound of angel’s wings. Knowing that Castiel would probably be able to sense the presence of someone in the apartment, he stepped around the corner and into the living room, acting startled at Castiel’s appearance.

In the light, Castiel was just as gorgeous. From James Novak’s birth certificate, Dean was aware that his former human body was in its mid-twenties. Dean couldn’t see much under that boxy trench coat and thousands of layers of clothes, but he could imagine that he still had a youthful, lithe body. For being one of those sexually repressed angels, Castiel sure had that sex hair and sex voice going on. It was like he was built to be fucked.

“What are you doing here?” the angel demanded.

Dean realized he had made it sound, last time, like they were local bumpkins wandering into a demon’s lair. “I’m a hunter,” Dean said quickly, hefting his gun.

Castiel’s expression didn’t ease in the slightest. “It is taken care of,” he said, his voice an annoyed grumble.

“Really?” Dean said incredulously, gesturing around. “Because it looks like a lot of people died today.”

“I was not aware that the demon was active until today.”

Dean took careful steps towards Castiel. All he needed, for the moment, was one cuff slapped on Castiel’s wrist. Really, both cuffs and the collar were required to hold all of his powers, but one would be enough to unbalance him. Then Sam could jump in and help wrestle him down, like a wild animal. One of Dean’s favorite parts. “Do you need some help?” he asked.

“No.” Castiel didn’t react to Dean’s invasion of his personal space. That wasn’t in and of itself unusual. Angels were ridiculously self-assured in their own abilities. “I am competent in dispatching demons.”

Dean laughed. “Yes, I saw.” Dean was now close enough that he could reach out and touch his hand to Castiel’s cheek. Castiel’s lips were pressed tightly together, eyes on Dean’s face. Still pissed off, probably. But he hadn’t smited Dean yet, which was promising. “Truth is…” He reached out one hand and thumbed at Castiel’s lower lip. “It was incredibly sexy.”

Taking the chance, he leaned forward and fastened his lips onto Castiel’s. Castiel’s lips parted slightly against his, brow creasing. Dean kept it gentle, light, holding his tongue back. All he wanted was to fuck Castiel with his tongue, show him exactly how dirty such a thing could be, but this was a distraction. So yeah, he was gentle.

Castiel tasted incredible. Like fireworks and cold water on a hot day. He tried his best not to get distracted by it himself, reaching his hand carefully into his inner pocket to grab one of the cuffs. Just a couple more seconds, and Castiel would be his.

With a sharp intake of breath, Castiel pulled away. “Stop,” he breathed against Dean’s skin. “I’m…I can’t.”

Dean let Castiel push him back, armed by the awareness that it would be the last time Castiel could. He stared. “Why not?” He realized the window was closing, and made a quick motion to snap the cuff onto Castiel’s wrist.

But it was too late. With a flutter of wings, Castiel was already gone. Dean was alone in the living room of a bloody apartment. “Goddammit!” He kicked the couch.

Sam appeared from the hallway, giving Dean a rather unimpressed look. “Sorry, Sam,” he grunted, hands curled into fists. How many times had Castiel succeeded in giving him blue balls already?

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam said, smiling. “I put the tracking spell on him.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is explicit non-consensual touching, explicit references to rape, and violence in this chapter. Please message me if you have any concerns about the adequacy of the warnings. Your comments are loved.

Castiel, in a classical angel fashion, moved around a lot. Sam, fingers to his forehead, said that Castiel had flown to France, Alaska, Uganda, and the Philippines within 30 seconds. Castiel, however, definitely had a base of operations, always returning to the same place in downtown Cheyenne. He even retired there for several hours during the day, when demons would not be likely to act. Catching Castiel at his home base would not be ideal, but, at the moment, it was the best idea they had. With nothing left to do but wait for Castiel to leave his base, they started working the demon case. 

The coroner’s expression was grim. Coroners, in Dean’s experience, never seemed grim, or even phased. Their expressions were permanently set to be unaffected and above it all. But this one was grim. She uncovered the body. The kid was small. Ten years old at the time of death. His body was covered with stabs and slashes, now clean and sanitized. Dean stared down at him. 

“This was balled up and shoved into his mouth,” the coroner said, handing Dean an evidence bag. It was a piece of old, yellowing paper, now smoothed out. “Lock will become the key. Blood from the innocent. Rock falls, night falls, day falls.” It was written in bold, triumphant script

“Cheery,” Dean commented, passing the note on to Sam. Sam stared at it, clearly committing the words to memory. 

“The guy also killed his wife, his seventeen year old daughter, and his mother-in-law. All of them had this mark on their palms, inflicted post-mortem.” The coroner gently turned the boy’s little hand to face palm up. On his palm, appearing to be branded on, were three long slashes, formed like misshapen staffs. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged. 

Most of the time, they did the bare minimum of research, only enough to nail their target to the ground. Before the Gallaghers released Hell on Earth, they almost never had to put in concentrated effort to find a their new pet. But this was different. They had no interest in the demon – it would be difficult to train Castiel, and there would be no time leftover for anything else. But this demon was killing, and killing fast. If they were going to take Castiel away from his work, they could at least kill the demon causing these deaths. 

“We’ll look into our records,” Sam promised the coroner. “Thank you.” With one last glance to the little boy’s body, Dean followed Sam out of the morgue.

While Dean drove back to the hotel, Sam pored over the case file. “This murder seems very calculated,” Sam said, squinting at the crime scene photos of the markings on their palms. “There were symbols painted on the walls. There were these symbols, on their hands. But why this family? Why now?”

“Demons like killing. Reason is a human thing.”

“But this is organized. This is…there has to be a reason, why this family.” Sam flipped through the Dad’s file. “Not even a speeding ticket on this guy’s file. You think one of them was a witch?”

“If they were, they’re dead now.”

“That mark on their palms…” Sam frowned down at the case file, as though hoping it would speak to him. “I’ve seen it somewhere. I just don’t know where.”

“We’ve seen a lot of symbols, Sammy. Hell, we’ve got a full grimoire in our trunk.”

“It’s not Enochian. It’s something else. But I just can’t think of what.”

Around 6pm, after poring over books for several excruciating hours, Sam said that Castiel had left his home base for the night. Since he’d flitted over to the morgue, Sam guessed that Castiel was working on the same puzzle that they’d been for most of the day. Anxious to get started on scoping out their prey’s nest, Dean sped most of the way to the location.

It was an old, abandoned factory. It was quite run down, with half of the windows broken and most of the walls plastered with graffiti. Sam did a quick ritual to see if there were any magical alarms on the place, and discovered none. Guns drawn, holy oil and angel blades ready, they entered the building. The bottom floor was similarly dilapidated, with a musty smell and an abundance of cobwebs. They cleared each room, before climbing the stairs up to the next level. 

It was like day and night. When they stepped into the room, automatic lights clicked on above them. The room was clean and gleaming. The windows were intact and clean. Dean could imagine, in the summers, they’d let in a lot of light. There was a makeshift desk from some old equipment, piled high with various books. One wall, opposite the windows, was absolutely plastered with pictures and newspaper clippings. Sam squinted at the wall. 

“Look, Dean.” Sam pointed at one section of the wall. There were at least thirty pictures of hands, all of the palms seared with that same symbol they’d seen on the little boy’s hand. Post-it notes were pinned to the pictures of hands, each with a seemingly random array of numbers. “92 + 91 + 2 + 31 = 216.” “2 + 4 = 6.” “24 + 56 + 55 + 3 + 1 + 5 + 72 = 216.” 

“I guess he’s onto something,” Dean muttered, staring at the sheer amount of material on the wall. Crime scene photos, newspaper clippings, post-it notes, notebook pages filled with strange writing, symbols…He’d gone straight up Criminal Minds on this shit. He shook his head, reasserting the plan. They’d set up the trap and catch Castiel. With any luck, Castiel was out and doing the rest of the work by killing the demon for them. After that, they wouldn’t have to think about the dead people or this case anymore. That was the plan. And, after that was done, he’d have a brand new toy to play with. 

They scoped out the whole place, and figured out a game plan. They set up the circle of holy oil, sat back, and waited for Castiel to return. 

And return he did. Castiel appeared late at night, though not in the circle, goddammit. He smelled of smoke and gunpowder. His trench coat, boxy and tan and clearly needing to be torn off him, was covered in a coat of soot. He let out a heavy sigh, as though he didn’t realize they were in the room and was taking a load off. But yet, when he looked up, his eyes were smoldering, and focused directly on Sam and Dean. Even under the low lights, they were a shocking blue. 

“How did you find me here?” 

Dean cleared his throat, forcing all thoughts of sex out of my head. In that moment, he wanted to kill Castiel. Castiel, the angel. Castiel, the monster. He was a hunter, a point-and-shoot, not a slaver. “You’ve been killing people.”

Castiel balked, momentarily taken aback. “What?”

“You’ve been frying people up, extra crispy. Not to mention the murder wall. What’s with the palm thing? You got a fetish?”

Castiel leveled him with a truly unimpressed look. Dean took a long, deliberate step back. “If you think I am the source of these deaths, you have not been paying attention.”

“We’ve been paying attention,” Sam interjected, stepping back along with Dean. “Wherever you go, death follows. Can you explain that?”

“They were demons,” Castiel said, voice laced with irritation. He took a couple of steps forward, one foot crossing the circle of holy oil. “You were there when I destroyed Bael. I fail to see how you could come to this conclusion, seeing that.”

“Even a stopped clock is right two times a day,” Sam said. Dean and Castiel both stared at him, so he revised, “Even a monster can do a good thing every once in a while.”

Castiel sighed again, obviously seeing them as a major inconvenience. “I do not have to explain myself to you.” he proclaimed. With a telltale hum, his angel blade dropped from his sleeve into his palm. He took a couple more steps forward, into the circle, and spun the blade in his palm. “If you intend to kill me, let’s get it over with now.”

“Kill you? Oh, no,” Dean said. With a click, the lighter was lit and dropped.

The holy oil ignited in a beautiful, triumphant flame. Castiel’s eyes widened, but he didn’t try to fly away. The circle was closed, and their new pet was trapped like a bug in amber. Dean didn’t know if it was haughtiness or resignation that crossed Castiel’s face, but either way, he stood still in the circle, his blade wielded, his body now a new, pretty possession of Sam and Dean’s. 

“Fine.” Castiel lifted his eyes from the flickering of the flames. “Kill me. My family is dead. My home is gone. Kill me now.”

“Well, as I see it, you have a choice to make,” Sam said. He pulled one cuff out of his jacket pocket. Dean pulled the other cuff and the collar, and placed them in Sam’s hands. The silver gleamed, the carved sigils seeming an intricate, loving pattern instead of marks of ownership and control. “We can kill you now, or you can put these on.” Sam held out one cuff at arm’s length, dangling from his fingertips. 

Castiel took the cuff from Sam, running his fingers along the Enochian letters. The corners of his mouth turned down, confusion and uncertainty working its way it into his expression. The hollows under his eyes looked deeper in the strange light of the holy fire. “Where did you get these?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You gonna put them on?”

“Andrew told me, once, that there was a different kind of hunter.” Castiel smoothed his fingertips along the cuff, as though to polish out the sigils. “Ones who did their work through different means. Crueler means.”

Dean scoffed. Of course Gallagher would be trash talking them and their ilk to everyone who could move. “Crueler than death, you mean, Cas?”

“Yes.” Castiel dropped the cuff with no fanfare. It fell partially into the holy fire, but did not break the circle. His voice turned mocking. “As I see it, you have a choice to make. You either kill me, or release me. I cannot be what you are looking for.”

Dean’s pulse picked up. This was it. The moment of resistance. This was when they would be teaching Castiel his first and one of his most important boundaries. Pets need structure. Guidance. Castiel’s first lesson would, subconsciously, allow him to view Sam and Dean as his new masters. The technique had worked hundreds of times before. He helped pin down Madison in the dirt, watching Sam fuck her until she screamed. He pinned down a siren’s hips and licked the sweet essence off his skin, ignoring the growls and, eventually, sobs. 

“Sam?” he asked. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel did not, as it turns out, react well to being jumped. Still imbued with his angel strength, he threw Dean halfway across the room, where he landed on something very hard. Groaning, Dean sat up, watching as Sam dodged a slash from the blade. Another slashing movement opened a bloody line on Sam’s forearm. Castiel was working at a disadvantage, as he couldn’t leave the circle. His footwork and blows were tightly constrained. Dean leaped forward, snatching the burning cuff from the circle. While Castiel was distracted, trying to keep Sam back, Dean managed to snap the cuff onto his wrist. As expected, Castiel was unbalanced. His blows lost all momentum and his movements became slow and sloppy, as though he was concussed. 

Sam’s movements were almost languish as he snapped the second cuff onto the other wrist. Dean got to work by grabbing onto Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head up. Castiel turned his head, trying to dislodge Dean’s grip, but was too weak. Sam wrapped the silver collar around his neck and watched as the closure disappeared.

They brought him to the ground. When they’d caught Rachel, they’d thought her physical weakness was mostly due to her injury. But it seemed like it was simply a side effect of the collar and cuffs. Castiel was weak as a kitten, even swiping at them a little. The holy fire circle was mostly rubbed out from the struggle. Dean rubbed over the rest of it with the heel of his boot, removing any risk to their pet. 

Castiel whined, a little bit, but stopped squirming against their holds. “I have work to do,” he said.

“Not anymore.” Sam looked up at Dean, raising his eyebrows, before running a relatively gentle palm down the side of Castiel’s face. There would be time for roughness later. Castiel panted, open-mouthed, looking completely exhausted. From the way he sounded, he’d been exhausted for a while now. The control would be good for him. Give him stability in his life. 

At least…until they sold him.

Dean pulled at the shoulders of the trench coat, slowly peeling it off of Castiel. Its bulk would present too much of a challenge when wrapping up Castiel to go. After a moment of hesitation, he removed the suit jacket too. It was like unwrapping a present, imagining how soft Castiel’s skin would be under his hand. He would fuck Castiel with his fingers first, getting him nice and wet and ready. Castiel would beg for him, cry to be stuffed full of cock. 

Of course, right now, the image was incongruous. Castiel was wrecked, his eyes wet, his skin pink. It was like he couldn’t imagine that he would be beat, or maybe he couldn’t imagine that he would be wanted in this way. 

“Why can’t you just kill me?” Castiel asked.

“You know why.” Dean worked his hand under Castiel’s shirt and undershirt, rubbing at his skin. Castiel reacted by trying to sit up and swipe Dean’s hands away, but Sam managed to pin his wrists down easily. Dean rubbed at his skin, stroking up his treasure trail. Castiel was, as expected, slim and fit, with a runner’s body. When Dean felt his flanks, he could feel the faint outline of Castiel’s ribs. He could take him, right here. Make him want it, beg for it. He’d call Dean Master and Daddy and Sir, anything so Dean would let him come. He reached upwards and pinched lightly at a nipple.

“No – stop –“ Castiel groaned, before Sam silenced him with a kiss. Castiel tried to slip his wrists free, but Sam’s hands tightened over them, keeping him still. 

“You know our kind of hunters, right, Cas?” Dean asked. He pinched at Castiel’s nipple harder and twisted, the other hand making small circles down to his waist. “You lost. And now, we’re going to fuck you. This is what you’re for now. When you’re not getting fucked by us, we have lots of toys we can use. Soon, you’re not going to remember anything but being ours.”

“Dean,” Sam said, pulling away from Castiel’s mouth but still keeping him pinned. “We should go. We don’t know what’s coming.”

Dean took one last glance at Castiel’s tear-streaked face, savoring the devastation there. He’d lost. He’d lost…to humans. Even being human once, that had to sting. This was the first breaking. There would be several more to follow. “Alright, let’s pack him up.”


End file.
